Class
by the ersatz diplomat
Summary: When Gryffindor House throws a suprise party, they throw it as far as they can. Starring McGonagall, the Marauders, and Lily.


**Title: **Class  
**Characters/Pairings:** Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and McGonagall, with the odd appearance of other Gryffindors.  
**Rating:** E for Everyone.  
**Genre:** Humor  
**Prompts:** MWPP, McGonagall, and _birthday_.  
**Word Count:** 1,753  
**Summary**: When Gryffindor House throws a surprise party, they throw it as far as they can. Posted to LJ for tegdoh's birthday.

* * *

It was silent, deathly still but for the scratching of quills on parchment and the occasional footsteps in the hall. Minerva McGonagall looked up from her large oak desk at the front of the Transfiguration classroom, making sure that the four young men were still bent over their own desks, copying lines. It was time once again for what the majority of the students had started referring to as _Detention with Those Blokes in Gryffindor_, named so because of the frequency of their presence. Sometimes there were more students, sometimes less, often an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire, but today it was only the five of them.

The Non-Breaking Quills and Auto-Refilling Inkpots she had invested in, for this selfsame purpose, were most certainly earning their keep tonight.

_Prefects do not have diplomatic immunity._

Remus Lupin sighed absently, shook his head and rolled his eyes—it was likely that he was already finished copying his sentences and was now trying to sort out a way to admonish his friends for their rash behavior without actually admonishing his friends at all.

_Even if my closest associates were to jump off of a metaphorical bridge, I should not._

Peter Pettigrew scowled at his paper, crossed out a word that was likely misspelled, and carried on, frustrated at having to do his own work for once. The bottom of his jumper was singed and still smelling of burnt wool, but had finally ceased smoldering.

_Fridays are __not__ "trousers optional," and forays through the corridor should never result in fire or a loss of clothing._

After every few lines, James Potter raised his head to stare out the window, towards the Quidditch pitch—clearly worried that he would be late for practice, yet hardly disconcerted by the fact that he wore no trousers over his Gryffindor red-and-gold striped satin underthings.

_I am not, nor have I ever been delightfully saucy, no matter what Mr Potter, Mr Pettigrew, or Mr Lupin contends._

Sirius Black scrawled his last line with a flourish and laid his quill on the desk, looking up with a devious smirk. He was plotting. Again.

"I'm finished, Professor."

McGonagall did not look up from the sheaf of essays she was grading. "Good for you, Mr. Black."

"Yes, I'm quite convinced that I am not now, nor have I ever been, delightfully saucy."

A stifled, smothered, girlish laugh came from the back of the room. Lily Evans stood in the doorway, the tea tray next to her hovering at shoulder height. She wrinkled her nose at Sirius as she passed. The tempting smell of freshly-cut flowers, chai tea, and ginger biscuits trailed behind as she made her way to the front.

"Happy Birthday, Professor! I made you some tea."

"Thank you, Miss Evans. I appreciate your thoughtfulness." With a flick of her wand, the tea poured itself into the cup, and two biscuits arranged themselves on the saucer. "How are the first years doing with tonight's homework?"

"Just fine. They're actually able to study, now that—" Lily cast a quick glance over her shoulder, red hair swinging. "Now that there's some peace and quiet in the common room. It's easier to tutor."

"Quite understandable." She gave the girl a tight smile.

"Is there anything else you need help with? Alice and Kingsley have it under control, if you need me to grade tests or anything."

"I think I can manage, Lily, thank you."

"Well, then, I'll see you…um, later. Many happy returns!" Lily smiled, waving at Remus as she left. He shook his head and rolled his eyes again, jabbing his quill towards Potter, who had been watching the exchange intently. His eyes followed her out the door and down the hall, his neck craned until she thought it would snap. As soon as Lily was out of sight, he whipped around, frowning indignantly.

"Oi! We brought you biscuits last year for your birthday and you didn't eat _those_!"

"Last year, I received a tin of biscuits charmed to look like dead canaries, laced with _catnip_, and addressed to someone named," she paused and cleared her throat, continuing in a voice that would have turned a first-year Hufflepuff to stone. "_Minnie_." McGonagall raised one stern eyebrow.

There was another heavy silence, tangibly awkward— punctuated by shuffling feet, the tapping of fingers, and crinkling parchment.

Remus tentatively raised his hand. "The canaries were, of course, a sort of roundabout reference to your Animagus form, and the adage 'the cat that ate the canary—'" he stopped short and nervously tugged on the collar of his shirt. "I believe we had originally intended the biscuits to resemble _live_ canaries, by using a variation on the _Avis_ charm, but unfortunately the deliberate attempt at irony was lost when—"

The eyebrow crept even higher on her forehead.

"…I had nothing to do with the…erm…the catnip."

"We resolved this last year, Mr. Lupin, and you informed me of your innocence at the time. We needn't exhume the topic again."

"Right."

James stared out the window again. Dusk was approaching; they had been copying lines since five o'clock and it was half-past seven now. He smiled crookedly, pushing his glasses up his nose. A blur of scarlet rushed past the arched glass and back again.

"I'm finished, too, Professor."

"How wonderful for you, Mr. Potter," she corrected a mistranslated spell on an Advanced Transfiguration essay. "But you must wait for the rest of your comrades to complete their lines."

"I'm the last again, Professor." Peter frowned at his parchment. "They can go ahead, can't they? I still have fifty lines—"

"No, Pete. We'll stay with you."

"Yeah, we're staying, Petey."

Sirius shot a surreptitious grin at James, who returned it. Remus looked pointedly away from his classmates, a hand clamped across his eyes. Peter determinedly wrote on, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. Black checked his watch once, then twice—whatever they were planning, it depended on the length of time it took Pettigrew to finish his lines.

"On second thought, that is enough for today, gentlemen." She set her quill on the table and picked up her wand, abruptly standing to summon their sheets of parchment. "You may return to your common room—"

"No!" Sirius shouted, jumping up. "I mean, Pete isn't finished yet. And—and we have to let him finish, or else it wouldn't be—it wouldn't be—fair!" He waved his arms in manic circles. "Equitable and just, you know? All for one and one for all! By the people, for the people! To be or not to be!" He sat back down, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, we _deserve_ to stay, we've been awful."

"Yes, just _awful_." James added earnestly.

"Awful, yes, and terrible, too—" Peter glanced up from his parchment. "Aren't we, Remus?"

"Most assuredly. Just horrid." He quipped dryly. "I'm appalled at our behavior."

Another flash of red swept past the windows and Sirius sniggered loudly. The other three boys cast glances at each other, nodding.

"If you would all be so kind as to tell me what in Merlin's name is going on?" She felt her temper flare; these young men were breaching the border between being amusing and being a nuisance.

"Nothing," four angelic voices chimed in transparently innocent unison. The sound of a crowd outside on the lawn, several stories below them, drew her to the window. All of her house, it seemed, was congregated below, waving and cheering. A Quidditch team soared past in formation, coming round to shoot fireworks in salute, crimson and gold against the evening sky.

"What is this madness?"

"_Madness_?" Sirius dashed to the window and threw it open, waving to the crowd. "This is _Gryffindor_!" Frank Longbottom had his guitar and was strumming, oddly amplified by magic, and the rest of the house was singing along with Sirius.

"_And here's to you, Ms. McGonagall…"_

Peter and James applauded, grinning like madmen.

"You _didn't_." She stared down at the throng of students, all waving pennants and scarves, singing loudly.

"_Remus loves you more than you will know…"_

"Oh, we most definitely _did_." Peter doubled over in laughter, nearly falling out of his chair. The song continued below as she turned to look at the four boys.

"_Don't test us please, Ms. McGonagall…  
Don't give out exams on your birthday…  
Hey, hey, hey…"_

She crossed her arms tightly and gave them an unsympathetic look over her spectacles. Sirius fell silent, James and Peter stopped smirking, and Remus sat up from having his face against the desk, now flushed pink.

"You are all excused. Even you, Mr. Lupin."

"But—"

"I thought—"

"What about—"

"Please, for the love of all that's holy, kill me now—"

"I said you are all _excused_, gentlemen, and you are free to go join the…festivities." She took off her glasses and polished the lenses on a conjured handkerchief in an attempt to keep emotion from her face. "As over-the-top as this may seem, I appreciate the sentiment. Now _go_. Off with you." She waved them out of the room, on the verge of laughter.

They all sprinted from the classroom, leaving sheets of parchment scattered across the desks. The soft sound of footsteps crossing the floor made her turn as Lily Evans drew up her own chair and summoned a cup of tea.

"This was your idea." McGonagall sipped her own tea, looking back out the window. Frank was still playing guitar, and his longtime girlfriend Alice was singing pop songs with Marlene McKinnon. The first year girls were learning to dance, courtesy of Kingsley and Sirius. Remus was laying face-down in the grass, holding a bottle of butterbeer. Peter was shooting fireworks off at random.

"How did you know?"

"Nothing has exploded." She gave her student, one of her favorites (though she never would have admitted she _did_ have favorites), a rare smile.

James Potter zoomed past the window on his broom, shirtless but still wearing a tie, with his Gryffindor boxers whipping in the wind. He left a lengthy pause in his wake. Lily cleared her throat, smiling weakly.

"Well…I'd like to think I lend a little class to the operation."

At the edge of the crowd stood a giant fellow with wildly waving black hair, and an older, white-haired man in pristine, navy blue spangled robes, both laughing heartily and drinking out of huge tankards. When they spotted Minerva watching out the window, they raised their drinks in a toast.

"Don't we all, dear. Don't we all."

* * *


End file.
